


One Perfect Night Before Hell Breaks Loose

by RamercyGriff



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:48:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22952824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamercyGriff/pseuds/RamercyGriff
Summary: Expands on a few scenes with more character perspective.
Relationships: Jason Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Kudos: 15





	One Perfect Night Before Hell Breaks Loose

Veronica Sawyer liked to believe she was a good person.  
But sometimes she suspected she wasn’t. She had had her shot with the “nice” kids. Betty Finn. Martha Dunnstock. Brownies. Timid, gentle girls who did volunteer work and focused on grades and spent date night at home watching _The Princess Bride_ for the umpteenth time. 

Sweet girls, and it was a point of pride for her that she would never be consciously or openly cruel to them no matter how far she crossed into the Dark Side. But somehow she had wanted something more than movie night at home and Mom’s paté. Joining the Heathers had seemed so… alluring. Suddenly cigarettes, booze, and house parties had gone from taboo subjects to very real possibilities. Casual sex, too, as long as it was with the right person. Heather Chandler could even make the introductions if necessary, though Veronica hadn’t been able to take as much advantage as she’d hoped (third base, though. Good progress for a couple weeks’ effort). It nearly made up for having to spend time with the Heathers. 

Veronica was aware of something inside her- an internal voice, she wouldn’t rule out a possessing demon, something she’d taken to calling the Inner Heather. A part of her that _wanted_ to look down on people. That feeling was as intoxicating as all the alcohol or all the sex. Maybe it was what had come of being told she was a genius one time too many as a child. 

Most days, the Inner Heather could be appeased by taking passive-aggressive swipes at the self-serving and self-righteous attitudes of the average Westerberger (“Gosh, it’s so _nice_ of you to condescend to speak to someone outside your dad’s income bracket! You’re _beautiful_!”). 

Other times she felt it taking a darker turn. Martha shyly putting down her own weight again? “Well, simple solution: you could lay off the Twinkies.” She’d never said it out loud, never would and never could, but it horrified her enough that she’d thought it. She would have punched out someone else’s lights for saying it, so why couldn’t she stop herself from thinking it? Once while absent-mindedly flicking her Zippo on and off, she even considered sticking her fingers over the flame just to punish herself. 

But the Inner Heather was there to stay, and that cruel little voice just proved to her that she belonged at the Heathers’ table far more than she ever did with Betty or Martha. She was destined to play croquet and do lunchroom polls and chat up intensely stupid football players until graduation, and maybe beyond, whether she liked it or not. And she was becoming increasingly aware that she didn’t. 

*** 

“Greetings and Salutations.” 

The sound made Veronica tense up. With a start she saw Mr. No-Name standing right there across the Shack, leather long-coat draped over his shoulders (did he ever take it off?), slushie cup in hand and amused, half-lidded look on his face present and accounted for. 

“Take a Slurpee with that?” He asked. His accent could be from anywhere, possibly all the anywheres at once, and his tone almost sounds like he’s testing out celebrity impressions with each line. But something about him seemed different now. In the caff he had been almost scornful towards her, at least until he’d been grinning madly as he buried his fists into Kurt and Ram’s faces. Now he seemed vaguely apologetic. 

Veronica finally snapped out of it. “No. But if you’re nice I’ll let you buy me a Big Gulp.” 

“Nice. Ooh. Not usually my strong suit.” The boy closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, like an actor readying himself for a reading. Then he opened his eyes again, placed his hand over his heart and tilted his head forward solemnly. 

“What I said in the caff today was… unworthy. It’s easy to stand above others in judgment without, like, knowing them. And shit. Please forgive me.” He sniffled dramatically and then broke character, smirking playfully. Actually, all he’d said in the caff was how shitty it was to put that fake note on Martha’s lunch tray, and frankly hearing him call her out for it was as much a relief as an embarrassment. 

“So, did you say cherry or lime?” 

Veronica tried not to giggle. “I said a Big Gulp.” 

“Ugh. Heretic,” he said evenly. “That’s like buying a salad from Mickey D’s. We won’t get along after all”. He put some money down on the counter anyway. A pained-looking cashier grabbed it and busied himself at the soda fountain. 

Veronica’s mind raced. Play it cool. Don’t scare him off but don’t let him think you’re actually interested either. Make him try to impress you. Already baited him into buying you apology snack food; good start. Depressingly, she realized she’d learned all this from the Heather Chandler playbook. But, well, you couldn’t argue with results. 

“So,” she said, trying to sound indifferent, “you ever going to tell me your name?” 

“What, and end the suspense?” He was proving pretty good at this whole banter thing. 

He shrugged. “It’s Jason Dean. But really just J.D., for short. And, let me guess- is it… Heather?” 

“Nope. I’m a Veronica.” 

“Oh, you _rebel_.” 

“Pfff.” It was sort of a laugh, but at least it wasn’t a giggle. “So, ‘J.D.’. That thing you pulled with Kurt and Ram was pretty severe.” 

“Yeah, well. The extreme always seems to make an impression.” 

This time she couldn’t avoid it. She giggled. And immediately thought about shooting herself. 

***  
There didn’t appear to be any recovery from what had happened at the party. Making that much of a scene to sabotage the piñata prank was bad enough. Losing the contents of her stomach all over Ram’s house and Heather Chandler’s… all over Heather Chandler? As far as she knew, Chandler had never killed anyone, but this indignity might just drive Westerberg’s demon queen to murder. 

Options. Options. Run away from Sherwood, Ohio forever? Not a great long-term plan. And in its own way it would still be a victory for Heather Chandler. Face consequences for your actions? Unthinkable. She couldn’t trust herself to stay cool in that kind of high-stress environment. If it ended in her begging for forgiveness or, God forbid, crying… same result. Chandler wins. 

Veronica felt like crap, she was nearly panicking, and on top of that the loss of her most recent meal had her somewhat hungry too. She paused her walk home and collapsed under the tree in someone’s lawn. Hopefully this time of night the owner would be asleep. 

So, what _could_ she do? What did people on death row do? She had the vague impression that they got some kind of last request. Just cram in as much hedonistic fun as possible with the remaining time. A few good nights before hell breaks loo…

Hang on. J.D. had mentioned his house being around here somewhere. And if he just moved in, there would be, like, vans around, or maybe still-packed boxes or something, something to make it easy to find…

***  
it was perhaps a couple hours later (admittedly, more than an hour and a half of that had consisted of tracking the house down and shimmying up a garden trellis, and failing to pick a lock until a confused-looking J.D. finally opened the window, but it’s the destination that counts). 

Veronica was actually lying in a boy’s bed with his arms around her. She was pretty sure it was actually happening, not a hallucination or anything. In the dark she couldn’t really make out his body, but the feel of it intrigued her. She tightened her arms around him and squeezed her face against his chest. 

J.D. gave a contented sort of groan. “You know,” he murmured, “I didn’t think I was even gonna like Sherwood.” 

His disaffected air seems to have reasserted itself. When he’d first discovered her and she’d made her intentions plain, his face had turned bright red and had turned into a mixture of panic, guilt, disbelief and eagerness. Knowing she could do that to him even for a short while was a bit exhilarating. 

J.D. continues murmuring. “So, to what exactly do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I… had a falling out with my friends. I just needed somewhere to hide for a bit.” She’s not sure if you’re supposed to talk like this after sex, but she already wanted to talk about it anyway. 

“These being the friends you don’t like.” 

“Yeah. I kind of. Puked. On Heather Chandler.” 

“Eesh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“… that’s the red one?” 

“Yeah.” 

“… accidentally or deliberately?” 

Another laugh escaped her. “Had too much to drink. God… I’ve always treated her stupid teen queen power plays as bullshit. But I’m still really scared. I don’t have anyone to eat lunch with on Monday, I keep feeling like I have to apologize… Jesus, I sound like an after school special.” 

Veronica realized that J.D. was stroking her hair now, repeatedly and slowly, and she found she had lost her train of thought. 

“Y’know, I don’t often get visitors this way,” J.D. drawls. “I feel like I should say thanks.” 

“Eh. Classier than just flinging off your clothes and boning on the neighbor’s swing set. And, um. Sorry about the… the mark.” Veronica indicated a bite mark on the muscles of J.D.’s left shoulder. 

“No big thing. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s permanent, but as long as I carry on my tradition of wearing shirts, I don’t think anyone will notice.” 

Veronica felt herself crack a smile. “What a night. What a _life_. You know… I was almost moved into high school straight out of sixth grade. I was supposed to be some kind of genius.”

“Mm. That’s hot.” 

“But I talked with Mom and Dad about it and we chucked the idea because I’d have trouble making friends, blah-blah-blah… and now blah-blah-blah is all I do. Use my genius IQ to choose what lip gloss to wear and how to hit three keggers before curfew.” 

Veronica wasn’t sure why she was suddenly spilling her heart out to some guy she’d barely known for an hour, except that he seemed to be listening. 

J.D. maneuvered his arm out from behind her head, clasped his hands under his chin in a faux-thoughtful gesture. “Ah. So Veronica Sawyer worries she’s wasting her potential. Something’s missing in her life. It’s not something she can get by being Miss Teen Genius. And it’s not something she can get being the social expert. So what is it? What do you really want?” 

Veronica sighed. “I don’t know. People to stop being such assholes, I guess.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that, either. It seemed like a reasonably cool thing to say, but thinking about it, she realized it was a bit true. 

J.D. spread his arms out again. “Guess I can get behind that. I’ve dealt with enough assholes for this lifetime.” 

There’s a bit of quiet for awhile and he wraps his arm a bit tighter around her. 

“I have a weird… kind of selfish request.” 

Well, this hadn’t been entirely unanticipated. She’s snuck into his house, after all, and probably didn’t want to explain her presence to his dad. 

“I got it. Sneak out the back?” 

“Mm. Actually I was going to ask you to stay. Like. Just until morning, at least.” 

Veronica felt her heart skip a beat. 

“Uh. Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-wise, I guess this is sort of the events from the play but more the characterization of the movie? I feel like a lot of people prefer Veronica's "nice" personality from the play over the movie's more jerkish personality, so I thought it would be an interesting experiment to try and reconcile the two. 
> 
> As an aside I read the scripts to get the dialogue right (except where I felt like embellishing), and there's a line that didn't make it into the final movie where JD gestures to a used condom and brags about how they killed a baby that night. Ugh.


End file.
